


The Swap

by winterover



Series: The Great Google Drive Purge [2]
Category: Star Trek RPF, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bodyswap, Gen, Modern Era, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 14:44:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8537131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterover/pseuds/winterover
Summary: Why is it 2007? Why are they in Los Angeles? And where are the owners of the clothes they are wearing? The crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise have found themselves in a most illogical situation.





	

Spock jolts to full consciousness with a startling and uncustomary suddenness. He's aware that he is not in his quarters, nor in any other place aboard the Enterprise, judging by the texture of the ceiling above him, the strange feeling of the surface under his back, the quality of the light, and the ambient temperature.

When he sits up, what he sees is not the familiar bulkheads of his quarters, but several other members of the crew - the entire senior staff, in fact - draped over various pieces of furniture and obviously asleep or unconscious. They are all, including himself, dressed in unfamiliar clothing, and Spock thinks with unease that he doesn't remember being undressed and re-dressed. Also, the pants he is wearing, heavy dark blue denim, are extremely restrictive and uncomfortable.

He stands up, gingerly, adjusting his thin short-sleeved shirt from where it had ridden up his stomach. They seem to be in a place of residence, judging by the furniture and the photographs and personal effects scattered around. Each tabletop is littered with empty bottles and glasses and dishes of highly salted snack foods. Spock bends and sniffs the nearest bottle, a dark brown one, and recoils at the yeasty scent. Alcohol. He doesn’t habitually partake, but perhaps this would account for the unconsciousness, and his Vulcan metabolism was simply able to process it more quickly than his crewmates’ would.

He then feels something cold and wet press against his arm, and flinches. It's a canine of some sort, shaggy dark gray with a red scarf around its neck and its tail undulating rapidly. Spock has never had a dog before, but if he recalls correctly, the tail movements indicate happiness - he allows the dog to sniff his hand, which it does. Apparently pleased with his scent, it licks him. He wipes his fingers on his leg, and the dog barks and does a little jump.

"Hello," Spock says doubtfully. "I am Commander Spock, of the U.S.S. Enterprise." The dog licks his hand once more. He doesn't know what it wants. "Are you...hungry?" It barks again, apparently recognizing the word, and trots out of the room without waiting for him.

Before he follows it, Spock bends over the captain's prone form and attempts to wake him. "Jim." Kirk snuffles, face mashed into the couch cushion. "Captain Kirk. Please wake."

"Nbbbrgh" is the closest approximation to the sound the captain makes, but he does not awaken. At least Spock is reassured that he isn't dead. He looks around once more at his sleeping compatriots, and then follows the dog into what seems to be the kitchen, lined on either side with closed cupboards and drawers of smooth, dark wood, and silver appliances of different types. It is far neater than the other room, with only a few taller wine bottles and empty long-stemmed glasses by the sink. However, there is an elegant black cat crouched on a countertop near him, staring at him with baleful half-open eyes.

"Unhygenic," Spock murmurs, touching the top of the cat's head - it makes a noise like _mrrr_ and rises to meet his hand - and then lifting it to the floor. It sniffs noses briefly with the dog and then walks away, tail high, into the room Spock had just left. There is a yowl, a shout of surprise and then a burst of swearing, and then it comes skittering back out and runs out of the kitchen by the other exit.

McCoy stumbles in, bleary-eyed and occasionally stopping to lift and rub one foot. He, like the rest, is dressed differently, in denim pants (not as tight as Spock's own) and a blue patterned shirt with a collar and buttons down the front. "Christ on a cracker," he says hoarsely, and then pauses, staring. "What are you _wearing_?"

"I believe, Doctor, a more prudent question would be 'where are we'." Spock watches as McCoy holds his hands under the faucet, frowns when nothing happens, twists one of the handles on either side, and splashes his face with the water that results. Manually-operated tap. Again, unhygenic. McCoy dries himself on the small towel on a rack next to the sink, then starts opening cupboards. "Do you think that's wise?" Spock inquires.

"We're in somebody's house, obviously," McCoy answers, slamming a door shut. "So there's gotta be some antibacterial around here, at least. Damn cat, gonna get rabies or some -" He trails off as he reaches a cupboard full of cans and boxes. "Cans?" Spock inches closer to see, as McCoy takes out a can with an illustration of tomatoes and then a small bag, featuring an image of noodle soup, that says _Sapporo Ichiban_ , which appears to be Japanese but means nothing to Spock, as he does not speak the language. Perhaps Lieutenant Sulu might be of some assistance in that matter.

"Instant? Look at the sodium content in this. Is this a _bunker_?"

"Considering the fact that there are windows, I would answer to the negative, Doctor." The view out every window is of little help - a tall fence surrounded by trees, with a blue sky above. "I am going outdoors."

"Do you think that's wise?" McCoy mimics. "No weapons, no comms? I think we should explore inside, see if we can find some. Wait for the others to wake up. Oh, what's this, now?" The dog is licking McCoy's hand, and he crouches to scratch its ears. "Hi there. You're a nice boy. Where's your owner?"

"It is a male?"

McCoy wordlessly lifts one of its hind legs, and Spock nods. Then McCoy checks around its neck, under the red scarf. "Noah. Good boy, Noah. There's a comm code on here, Spock, but I don't recognize the area or the format."

There are sounds of murmuring coming from the other room, now, and presently Chekov, Kirk and Scott enter the room, in that order and obviously bewildered. Kirk's gray sweater is mis-buttoned. "Spock." Kirk’s eyes slowly come into focus, and he blinks. "What are you _wearing?_ "

"Captain," says Spock promptly, ignoring his question. "The only other signs of life I have encountered are a cat and this...dog." The dog is running around, sniffing the newcomers' genital areas, and doing the same to Nyota and Sulu as they enter, yawning. Nyota is wearing a short white dress, and she pushes the dog's head away as it attempts to investigate underneath, but it simply licks her palm in its affectionate way.

Kirk touches a device on the counter like a lidded glass pitcher attached to a base with various buttons and labels. _On, off, stir, chop, blend, puree, liquefy_. "Looks like the twenty-first century," he remarks. "Maybe twentieth. Why would someone knock us out, dress us like this -" His observation is directed mostly toward Spock and toward Chekov, who is inexplicably wearing a scarf and a knitted hat, though they are indoors and the visible vegetation would indicate a warm climate - "and put us in a mockup of a Terran twenty-first century house?"

The cat leaps up onto the counter once more, and while Spock looks disapprovingly at it, Scotty rubs it under the chin. "And with animals, too."

"Okay," Kirk says, scratching his head. "Arm yourselves with whatever you can find. Let's spread out. Sulu and Scotty, back that way. Bones and Uhura, that way. Spock and Chekov, you're with me. We're going outside."

Several of them take knives from the block on the counter, and other dangerous-looking utensils from a metal cup next to it. The dog follows Spock out the kitchen doors into the dry, hot sunshine. There is a small outdoor seating area and then an expanse of rather faded grass, with neatly kept flowers and short bushes lining the high fence. Tall trees with scaly bark surround the property, and through small gaps in the fence, a vehicle driving by can occasionally be seen and heard.

Chekov removes his scarf, looking overheated, and drops it onto one of the chairs as they continue around the house, which from the outside is one level, wide, and neatly kept. More grass, more flowers, a coiled-up piece of green hose attached to a spigot, and occasional items of bright plastic here and there - Kirk picks up a small red ball and tosses it in his hand as he goes, Noah bounding around his feet. The door at the front of the house, with a path and steps leading up to it from a gate in the fence, is sheltered by an overhang. The number 228 is attached to it in silver lettering.

"Stay," says Kirk firmly to Noah as they proceed. Through the gate is a driveway with several vehicles of differing makes and colors parked in it. Kirk immediately goes to a small silver one, touching the hood admiringly. "Wow, _nice._ "

Chekov looks around. "It is like it's abandoned."

"Judging by the position of the sun," says Spock, squinting at the sky, "if this is indeed Earth, it's still early in the morning."

"7:09 a.m.," says Kirk, glancing at the archaic wristwatch he is wearing. "0700 hours. Already sunny. Warm. Judging by the trees and the climate, this is kinda like California. This car should have some sort of...aha." He points to the base of another car, a blue one. "California license plate - 2007?" Kirk looks at Spock in disbelief. "The license is from 2007, and it looks new."

"It would then stand to reason that we have been somehow transported to the twenty-first century."

"But..." Chekov throws up his hands. " _How_? Wait," he says suddenly, staring at something past the car. "Those people are looking at us, aren't they?"

Spock turns immediately away and ducks his head, and Kirk follows, trying subtly to block him from sight. If it's 2007, Vulcan will not have made first contact with Earth yet, and the two people with their dogs on the sidewalk across the street, pointing small devices like comms in their direction, must not be allowed to see his ears. "I suggest we go inside," he says urgently, and Kirk and Chekov hurry him in through the gate.

.

**Author's Note:**

> If you guessed that the actors are all up in space, excitedly pressing buttons and marveling at the lightness and comfort of true space-age fabric, you would be correct.


End file.
